How many times in the past week did you hear this verse of Scripture?
"Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." Isaiah 43:19
As the new year approached, everywhere I turned, it seemed I was bumping up against that verse. But this year I heard it differently than I have in the past. This year I can actually see the new thing God is doing for me. And, here we go again, it involves the new dog.
We live on 3.5 acres. Most of that consists of a sticker-and-weeds-filled field some distance from our house. My husband turned it into a small track for his dirt bike, and the kids sometimes ride the ATV around it. Prior to November, I had been out there only a handful of times in four years. Then the puppy arrived. His level of fatigue directly corresponds to our level of peace and enjoyment. We started taking him to the "track" to run out his energy. There are neighboring houses in the distance and a major road some 40 yards away, separated from our field by a stickery slope and a barbed-wire fence. But Oakley is codependent in the healthiest of ways and sticks pretty close. The traffic roars by, unseen but definitely heard, and creates a nice white-noise effect. I feel like I'm the only person in the world out there.
As crazy as it sounds, it has become my holy place. My "new thing."
I've always been more of an outside pray-er than an inside one. Truth be told, I'm not a great pray-er, period. I can study the Bible for days on end, but prayer has been a harder spiritual discipline to cultivate in my life. There have been times, lots of them, actually, when I've felt strongly the presence of the Holy Spirit, when it seemed like the veil between me and the throne of God was more transparent. But for the most part, prayer is more a discipline for me than a joy. This has been my story for 46 years. And then we got the dog.
I don't know what it is. The going around in circles? The traffic noise? The privacy? The goofy joy I find in watching my spastic and frolicking puppy? A friend wondered if it's the containment, not only of the dog and me, but also of my mind. Unlike a neighborhood walk, there are no houses to look at. No other pets to avoid. No cars or people. It's just me, Oakley, a dirt track, and the unexpected presence of God.
He welcomes me in. I can almost feel His pleasure, like an eager host greeting his guest at the door: "Come in! I've been waiting for you!" He writes His words on my heart, and they come pouring out of my lips. Scripture comes readily to my mind and mixes with my words. I speak loudly; there's no one else around. I speak powerfully. The words are Spirit-led, not my own. My own are rambling, repetitive, uninspired, dull, distracted. These words catch me by surprise. They come with force and with conviction that they are pleasing to God, directed by Him. I know that He hears me. I know He always hears me, but this knowing goes beyond faith and belief. I actually feel Him hearing me. I keep walking, all those circles, 5 degrees outside, Oakley good and tired. And yet I can't help but make one more trip around the track.
When you've walked closely with Jesus for 20, 30, or 40 years, you might be tempted to stop looking for the "new thing." Please don't stop. Keep looking. Keep experimenting. If your prayer life seems dull, look for new places to pray. If you've lost interest in reading the Bible, try handwriting or typing it out. Listen to it online. Go to theversesproject.com and soak up scripture put to music and art.
Don't ever stop looking for the new thing God wants to give you.
Friday, January 6, 2017
Friday, December 30, 2016
2016 Book List
BOOKS I CAMPED OUT ON
Impossible People: Christian Courage and the Struggle for the Soul of Civilization by Os Guinness. Weighty. Urgent. Relevant. This book stretched my brain power to its outer reaches, and as soon as I finished it, I knew I needed to read it again to try to absorb all I missed the first time. Guinness writes about the things we don’t want to think about, the big ideas and transformations in our world that will change life as we know it. Like the fact that the decline of the Judeo-Christian faith as the soul of the West has opened the door for two positions vying for control over the world’s thought: aggressive secularism and radical Islam. The consequences are vast. It’s much easier to keep our minds busy with daily schedules and a good fiction book, but sometimes we need to think bigger. This book is not to be missed—even if it is overwhelming.
American
Girls: Social Media and the Secret Lives of Teenagers by Nancy Jo Sales.
I blogged in detail about this book over the summer, and I’m still haunted by it. If you like
to be informed about the state of our culture, and especially if you have
children, I recommend you read at least the introduction.
And also sounding the alarm on technology …
Nicholas Carr’s new book Utopia Is Creepy: And Other Provocations.
There’s actually nothing new here; rather, this book is a collection of essays,
blog posts, and book reviews since 2005. Carr had me at The Shallows, and I appreciate him as a writer, researcher, and
social commentator. He shares my concern (abject terror?) over where technology
is taking us and the effects it’s having on us, but he actually knows what he’s
talking about. The last entry in this book, on biotechnology, sent chills down my spine. And here's a sample of Carr’s comments about Twitter: “What used to happen in
the privacy of the mind is now tossed into the public’s bowl like so many Fritos.
The broadcasting of the spectacle of self has become a full-time job.” Twitter
is the medium of Narcissus, and Narcissism is the “user interface for
Nihilism,” says Carr, allowing us to both “indulge our self-absorption and to
distance ourselves from it by acknowledging, with a coy digital wink, its
essential emptiness. I love me! Just kidding!” And it all masquerades as
community. God, help us.
BOOKS BY SOME OF MY FAVORITE AUTHORS
The Pastor: A Memoir by Eugene Peterson. This book is aimed at two audiences: those who are (or want to be) pastors and those who savor Eugene Peterson like fine wine. I fall into the latter category. Having made my way through nearly all of C.S. Lewis’s works, I am now compelled to read at least one Eugene Peterson and one Tim Keller book each year.
Speaking of Keller, I read his book Counterfeit Gods this year. It was
shorter than I expected, but contained a few gems, such as his discussion of
four types of deep idols: power idolatry, approval idolatry, control idolatry,
comfort idolatry. We can all recognize one of those in ourselves.
If
You Can Keep It: The Forgotten Promise of American Liberty. Eric Metaxas is on his way to becoming one of my
favorites. This book takes its name from a quote attributed to Benjamin
Franklin. As the designers of the U.S. constitution walked out of their meeting
in September 1787, a woman approached Franklin, then 81, and asked if the young
country was really going to be a democracy. Franklin answered, “Yes, if you
can keep it.” Metaxas uses this as his thesis: that liberty requires work. If
we want to live in a free, democratic country, we all have to play a part in
maintaining it. My crazy enthusiasm for the book waned as it became less about
that principle and more about individual biographies, but it will still be
required reading for the teenagers in my house.
I thought Brene Brown might become one of my new favorite authors, but
after reading The Gift of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be
and Embrace You Are in January, I can’t remember a thing about it.
Although I think back on it positively, I’ll need to read another of her books
to determine if I’m a fan like other people are.
BOOKS THAT EXPANDED MY PERSPECTIVE
First, A Mother’s Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy by Sue Klebold. Couldn’t put this one down. Between the title and the author’s name, you can figure out what this book is about. Columbine hit me hard, both because it happened an hour from my house and because I was pregnant with my first child at the time. Throughout the years, the overriding thought in my head has been, “What was going on with those parents? How did they not know? How must this have affected them, and how do they live with the horror of it for the rest of their lives?” Sue Klebold answered all of my questions, and by the end of the book, she seemed more like a friend than an anomaly. I wanted to write to her, to tell her that despite all her efforts to redeem her tragedy—to make suicide-prevention her life’s mission, to give of herself ceaselessly to others—Jesus is the only answer to real, lasting peace. I may write to her yet.
Between
the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates. How can two people see the same
thing—the shooting of a black man by a while police officer, for example—and
have two vastly different perspectives of what happened? That question prompted
me to read this widely acclaimed book. Coates is as different from me as he can
be. He’s a black man who grew up in inner-city Baltimore. He has no belief in
God. He has experienced things I can barely imagine: His son being angrily
pushed by a white woman in a crowd, routinely being pulled over by cops for no
reason other than his skin color. What surprised me most is that this man is
terrified every day, for himself and for his teenage son. Because they’re
black. I was also caught off guard by the words he used for people like me: “people
who need to believe they’re white” or “people who think they’re white.” Hmmm. The
book felt overwritten and too poetic for my taste (he is, indeed, a poet), and
there were times when I had no idea what he was talking about. But I got the
gist of it, and it was eye-opening. A different perspective is good for me.
BIBLE COMMENTARY
I read a lot of commentaries for my work and my girls’ Bible studies, but
will only recommend one here for casual reading. It’s Michael Card’s Luke:
The Gospel of Amazement. Card has written about all of the gospels. If
you’re looking for brief, easy-to-understand commentaries, his are a good
choice.
ENJOYABLE FICTION
Where’d
You Go Bernadette by Maria Semple. This is a quick read with a quirky
plot and clever writing. I breezed through it and thoroughly enjoyed it.
FICTION I HATED
Forgiveness 4 You by Ann Bauer. The only reason I’m admitting I
read it is so that you will avoid it. The premise, marketing and selling
forgiveness to those who don’t have time or interest in church, was provocative
enough to persevere through it, but in the end, it was sacrilegious drivel and
a complete waste of time.
BOOKS I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO IN 2017
You Are What You Love; Hillbilly Elegy; Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus;
The Beckoning; Just Do Something. Please send me your own recommendations, and keep reading!
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
Dogs, Cones, and Momentary Affliction
Surely I'm not one of those people who gets a dog and immediately feels she must blog about it. I'd like to think I'm not that trite. But who am I kidding? I got a dog, and I'm going to write about him. I'm even going to spiritualize the situation. Please humor me.
Oakley is a Pudelpointer. (A hunting dog who doesn't shed; look it up!) He came to live with us four weeks ago, and I'm already smitten. Our Lab Zeke died six years ago, and it took every minute of that six years for us to muster the courage to get another dog. I loved Zeke with every fiber of my being, but he was a monster. One of my coworkers actually pulled me aside to ask "if everything was OK at home" when I came to work with multiple scrapes, scratches, and bruises. "I just got a puppy," I told him, and he seemed to understand.
But this trite blog is not about Zeke; it's about Oakley, the new pup in my life. After recently getting fixed, he was forced into the Cone of Shame. (Shout out to one of my favorite movies, UP, for giving us that clever name.) No surprise, Oakley was not a fan of the cone. He spent pretty much every waking moment resisting it. He clawed at it, rolled in the dirt with it, and mashed his head into the couch with it. He growled and barked at it. He made pathetic faces at those of us who had the power to get it off him. During one particularly pitiful moment, my husband noted the sad fact that Oakley had no idea this was only a temporary situation. To a puppy, this was now his new life, trapped forever by a torture device that kept him from licking his itches and otherwise thriving in this world.
The apostle Paul wrote about light and momentary afflictions. The troubles of this life feel neither light nor momentary. They feel restrictive, irritating, burdensome, and oh so permanent. We scrape and claw and roll in the dirt, trying to shake them. They keep us up at night. Somethings they keep us from eating. Even worse, they cause us to doubt the goodness of God, the one who could so easily "take it off."
As I watched Oakley resist and struggle, it was everything I could do not to take the cone off. Sometimes I had to leave the room, even though my heart was no less with him. But he needed the cone. It was for his own good, to help him heal. In order to thrive, he had to endure the affliction. And I knew that it was a relatively light affliction at that, one that would go away in a couple of days.
Some people are surprised to learn that Jesus flat out said that we're going to have troubles in this world (John 16:33). You don't hear a lot about that at evangelism crusades. We focus on the victories rather than the troubles, as well we should, but the fact is, we're still going to hurt. Surrendering your life to Christ in no way ensures that things are going to go your way or that you're always going to be happy. In fact, in some places, taking on the name "Christian" makes things a hundred times harder. But Jesus also said, "Take heart! I have overcome the world."
"Light" and "momentary" are relative terms. Oakley only had to wear the cone for five days, but your suffering might go on for years. It might even last your whole life. But in the context of eternal life, even that is momentary. I wonder if God ever looks at us rolling in the dirt with our affliction and thinks, "If only they knew it won't be like this forever"?
Oakley's a week out of his cone now, and I bet he doesn't even remember it. That'll be us some day. Our shame, our pain, our burdens, our afflictions--all forgotten because Jesus has overcome for our sake. Think of that the next time you see a dog in a cone.
Oakley is a Pudelpointer. (A hunting dog who doesn't shed; look it up!) He came to live with us four weeks ago, and I'm already smitten. Our Lab Zeke died six years ago, and it took every minute of that six years for us to muster the courage to get another dog. I loved Zeke with every fiber of my being, but he was a monster. One of my coworkers actually pulled me aside to ask "if everything was OK at home" when I came to work with multiple scrapes, scratches, and bruises. "I just got a puppy," I told him, and he seemed to understand.
But this trite blog is not about Zeke; it's about Oakley, the new pup in my life. After recently getting fixed, he was forced into the Cone of Shame. (Shout out to one of my favorite movies, UP, for giving us that clever name.) No surprise, Oakley was not a fan of the cone. He spent pretty much every waking moment resisting it. He clawed at it, rolled in the dirt with it, and mashed his head into the couch with it. He growled and barked at it. He made pathetic faces at those of us who had the power to get it off him. During one particularly pitiful moment, my husband noted the sad fact that Oakley had no idea this was only a temporary situation. To a puppy, this was now his new life, trapped forever by a torture device that kept him from licking his itches and otherwise thriving in this world.
The apostle Paul wrote about light and momentary afflictions. The troubles of this life feel neither light nor momentary. They feel restrictive, irritating, burdensome, and oh so permanent. We scrape and claw and roll in the dirt, trying to shake them. They keep us up at night. Somethings they keep us from eating. Even worse, they cause us to doubt the goodness of God, the one who could so easily "take it off."
As I watched Oakley resist and struggle, it was everything I could do not to take the cone off. Sometimes I had to leave the room, even though my heart was no less with him. But he needed the cone. It was for his own good, to help him heal. In order to thrive, he had to endure the affliction. And I knew that it was a relatively light affliction at that, one that would go away in a couple of days.
Some people are surprised to learn that Jesus flat out said that we're going to have troubles in this world (John 16:33). You don't hear a lot about that at evangelism crusades. We focus on the victories rather than the troubles, as well we should, but the fact is, we're still going to hurt. Surrendering your life to Christ in no way ensures that things are going to go your way or that you're always going to be happy. In fact, in some places, taking on the name "Christian" makes things a hundred times harder. But Jesus also said, "Take heart! I have overcome the world."
"Light" and "momentary" are relative terms. Oakley only had to wear the cone for five days, but your suffering might go on for years. It might even last your whole life. But in the context of eternal life, even that is momentary. I wonder if God ever looks at us rolling in the dirt with our affliction and thinks, "If only they knew it won't be like this forever"?
Oakley's a week out of his cone now, and I bet he doesn't even remember it. That'll be us some day. Our shame, our pain, our burdens, our afflictions--all forgotten because Jesus has overcome for our sake. Think of that the next time you see a dog in a cone.
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
An Unexpected Addition to My Thankful List
If I were to write up a list of all that I'm thankful for, it would stretch to Mexico City. And this year there's something new on the list. Band. Yep, that band: tuba players, flag twirlers, and funny plumed hats.
In fact, I would like to take back every ugly thing I ever said or thought about the band kids at my high school. I was wrong! I was immature and short-sighted! I couldn't get past the unflattering pants to see that band was one of the coolest things ever. The culture in my home didn't help. My dad was a football coach. Despite my mom's flute playing and my brother's dabbling in the trombone, my dad wore the pants in our family, and band pants they were not. I'm not sure anything irked him more than the quarterback running out on the field at halftime to play his trumpet. Football fields were for football games, and anything happening outside the 48 minutes of football play was irrelevant.
I'm sorry, band kids! Here's what I've learned about you in 2016.
Band kids work harder than just about anyone else. They run laps and bleachers. They stand for long minutes holding up their instruments to develop their arm muscles. They have six-hour practices in the blistering heat of summer, playing the same songs a hundred times a day. They learn an entirely new way to run, on their toes, while wearing shiny, patent-leather shoes.
Band kids know team work like no one else. They work together with the discipline and precision of a team of Navy seals. Attention to detail, focus, cooperation, pursuing excellence--all skills learned by band kids. And the amazing part is that no one's paying attention to that clarinet player in the fourth row. There is no spotlight on a marching band. No one's a star; no one's even noticed individually. They succeed or fail as a group. Band kids are selfless.
Band kids are a family. They take care of each other. There is no "JV" or "C Squad" band. Freshmen march right alongside seniors. My little freshman melophone player showed up at band camp a little overwhelmed and intimidated. Her section leader, a senior girl, noticed, cared, and became fast friends with my daughter. She sat with her on the five-hour bus ride to state, helped her with her homework, and made sure she had a group to sit with at dinner. Band kids eat together at lunch. They go out together after games. Band parties are a thing, and they're the kind of thing mothers feel good about. Band can provide a socially awkward kid with a sense of belonging and an introvert with a way to beautifully express herself.
I even have new respect for the band uniform. Yes, the bib overall thing is an odd choice, but I appreciate that the band uniform gets kids out of basketball shorts and into something classy, even regal.
I repent for harshly judging band kids. I regret my years of fast-forwarding through all the marching bands in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. My esteem for you is sky high, and if you've made it as far as Macy's on Thanksgiving, you deserve my full attention, even at the risk of burning my gravy. Tomorrow, I will watch and marvel.
In fact, I would like to take back every ugly thing I ever said or thought about the band kids at my high school. I was wrong! I was immature and short-sighted! I couldn't get past the unflattering pants to see that band was one of the coolest things ever. The culture in my home didn't help. My dad was a football coach. Despite my mom's flute playing and my brother's dabbling in the trombone, my dad wore the pants in our family, and band pants they were not. I'm not sure anything irked him more than the quarterback running out on the field at halftime to play his trumpet. Football fields were for football games, and anything happening outside the 48 minutes of football play was irrelevant.
I'm sorry, band kids! Here's what I've learned about you in 2016.
Band kids work harder than just about anyone else. They run laps and bleachers. They stand for long minutes holding up their instruments to develop their arm muscles. They have six-hour practices in the blistering heat of summer, playing the same songs a hundred times a day. They learn an entirely new way to run, on their toes, while wearing shiny, patent-leather shoes.
Band kids know team work like no one else. They work together with the discipline and precision of a team of Navy seals. Attention to detail, focus, cooperation, pursuing excellence--all skills learned by band kids. And the amazing part is that no one's paying attention to that clarinet player in the fourth row. There is no spotlight on a marching band. No one's a star; no one's even noticed individually. They succeed or fail as a group. Band kids are selfless.
Band kids are a family. They take care of each other. There is no "JV" or "C Squad" band. Freshmen march right alongside seniors. My little freshman melophone player showed up at band camp a little overwhelmed and intimidated. Her section leader, a senior girl, noticed, cared, and became fast friends with my daughter. She sat with her on the five-hour bus ride to state, helped her with her homework, and made sure she had a group to sit with at dinner. Band kids eat together at lunch. They go out together after games. Band parties are a thing, and they're the kind of thing mothers feel good about. Band can provide a socially awkward kid with a sense of belonging and an introvert with a way to beautifully express herself.
I even have new respect for the band uniform. Yes, the bib overall thing is an odd choice, but I appreciate that the band uniform gets kids out of basketball shorts and into something classy, even regal.
I repent for harshly judging band kids. I regret my years of fast-forwarding through all the marching bands in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. My esteem for you is sky high, and if you've made it as far as Macy's on Thanksgiving, you deserve my full attention, even at the risk of burning my gravy. Tomorrow, I will watch and marvel.
Sunday, November 13, 2016
Specks and planks
I had every intention of keeping my mouth shut about the election. There are 300 million voices out there clamoring to be heard, and mine doesn't need to be among them. But as the protests continue, I take pause from my fierce tongue-biting to offer this thought.
This quote came from a protester yesterday: "We have to keep coming and making sure [Trump's] hatred and his fear and the anger that he's stirring up . . . doesn't manifest itself in our country."
At the event in which this man spoke, people were hurling a bat at a Donald Trump pinata, knocking off his legs and bashing in his head. Children jumped in, squealing with delight as they pounded the effigy to smithereens. Others lit little Trumps on fire.
Does anyone else find this ironic?
No one has a monopoly on hate. Middle-aged, blue-collar white men can be hated and vilified every bit as much as a transgendered teenager. Definition of a bigot: a person who is intolerant toward those holding different opinions.
God, keep me always mindful of the plank in my own eye.
"How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?" Matthew 7:4.
This quote came from a protester yesterday: "We have to keep coming and making sure [Trump's] hatred and his fear and the anger that he's stirring up . . . doesn't manifest itself in our country."
At the event in which this man spoke, people were hurling a bat at a Donald Trump pinata, knocking off his legs and bashing in his head. Children jumped in, squealing with delight as they pounded the effigy to smithereens. Others lit little Trumps on fire.
Does anyone else find this ironic?
No one has a monopoly on hate. Middle-aged, blue-collar white men can be hated and vilified every bit as much as a transgendered teenager. Definition of a bigot: a person who is intolerant toward those holding different opinions.
God, keep me always mindful of the plank in my own eye.
"How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?" Matthew 7:4.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
A Tale of Two Schools
Each week, I volunteer at two elementary schools. They're about 12.5 miles apart geographically, but sometimes I think they might as well exist in different universes.
Children with names like Emma, Hannah, and Nicholas attend one, while Jenesiss, Royaltee, and Danger attend the other. Children arrive at one school through a very complex carpool system, so complex that some mothers arrive an hour early to retrieve their children after school. Most of the kids at the other school either walk or ride their bikes. One group arrives to the sound of classical music being piped over the loud speaker. The other hears Beyonce coming out of a boombox in the gym. At lunchtime, most of the students at one school bring lunches packed at home, often accompanied by a note from mom. In the other cafeteria, children eat government-issued school lunch. A couple hours earlier, the kids sat in this same cafeteria eating government-issued breakfasts. If it's testing week, snacks will be provided for them, also by the government.
One school sees very little student turnover. Children's names were put on a waiting list at birth, and if they leave, even for a year, they will not get back in. This means that the same children return year after year after year, and most of them will be together at high school graduation.The class list changes weekly, if not daily, at the other school. It's not unusual to find a third grader who's already been in six or seven different elementary schools.
Reading is important at both schools. In one, students read Captain Underpants and Junie B. Jones, anything, as long as they're reading. At the other school, teachers plug classics like Misty of Chincoteague and Island of the Blue Dolphins. Occasionally reading is rewarded in this school, but children are generally taught to seek and appreciate intrinsic reward, doing something because it's the right thing to do. At the other school, rewards are everything. Kids earn tickets throughout the day, which enable them to shop at the school store. Rootbeer float parties, popsicle parties, even limo rides are offered as rewards to those who behave well, read well, test well.
One school is almost entirely paperless. Communication with parents is sent by email or text. The other school sends home every announcement three times. Field trip next Thursday? Three pieces of paper on three separate days. The reason for this makes sense, but I wouldn't have figured it out without asking someone: A child may go home with mom one day, dad the next, and grandma or an aunt or a neighbor yet another day. The school is never quite sure where the child is staying. At that school, less than 50 percent (and probably closer to 25 percent) of the children share their mother's last name. Not only is it hard knowing who lives where, it's hard keeping track of who belongs to whom. Not such an issue at the other school, where the vast majority live in homes with parents who are married to each other and have the same last name.
At one school, turning in chaperone forms is a competitive sport. The first two parents to turn in the form get a coveted spot on the field trip bus. Depending on the speaker, PTO meetings can be standing room only. Moms cut boxtops, shop at stores that give school kickbacks, organize teacher blessing weeks, and rearrange schedules so they can spy on the classroom. Er, I mean grade papers. At the other school's recent PTO meeting, not one parent showed up. This was after the triplicate paper announcements were sent home and government-issued snacks (good ones!) were purchased. The principal has determined that at this school, parent involvement means parents getting their kids to school. On time when possible. Period. Beyond this, parents don't have the luxury of time, or the stability, to spend time at their children's school, whether they want to or not.
One principal battles issues related to Common Core. The other battles issues related to attendance and tardies. Both work so hard for the children in their schools, and both lead a team of dedicated teachers who deserve twice the salary they make.
Both schools are also filled with children who think their reality is what's normal.They're children who will most likely follow in the tracks of their parents, because what their parents do is what's "normal" to them, whether that's practicing law 12 hours a day or bouncing from one minimum-wage job to the next, having a baby at 17 or waiting until they've earned a couple graduate degrees, riding the bus or driving a Lexus.
Twelve and a half miles and a whole universe apart.
Children with names like Emma, Hannah, and Nicholas attend one, while Jenesiss, Royaltee, and Danger attend the other. Children arrive at one school through a very complex carpool system, so complex that some mothers arrive an hour early to retrieve their children after school. Most of the kids at the other school either walk or ride their bikes. One group arrives to the sound of classical music being piped over the loud speaker. The other hears Beyonce coming out of a boombox in the gym. At lunchtime, most of the students at one school bring lunches packed at home, often accompanied by a note from mom. In the other cafeteria, children eat government-issued school lunch. A couple hours earlier, the kids sat in this same cafeteria eating government-issued breakfasts. If it's testing week, snacks will be provided for them, also by the government.
One school sees very little student turnover. Children's names were put on a waiting list at birth, and if they leave, even for a year, they will not get back in. This means that the same children return year after year after year, and most of them will be together at high school graduation.The class list changes weekly, if not daily, at the other school. It's not unusual to find a third grader who's already been in six or seven different elementary schools.
Reading is important at both schools. In one, students read Captain Underpants and Junie B. Jones, anything, as long as they're reading. At the other school, teachers plug classics like Misty of Chincoteague and Island of the Blue Dolphins. Occasionally reading is rewarded in this school, but children are generally taught to seek and appreciate intrinsic reward, doing something because it's the right thing to do. At the other school, rewards are everything. Kids earn tickets throughout the day, which enable them to shop at the school store. Rootbeer float parties, popsicle parties, even limo rides are offered as rewards to those who behave well, read well, test well.
One school is almost entirely paperless. Communication with parents is sent by email or text. The other school sends home every announcement three times. Field trip next Thursday? Three pieces of paper on three separate days. The reason for this makes sense, but I wouldn't have figured it out without asking someone: A child may go home with mom one day, dad the next, and grandma or an aunt or a neighbor yet another day. The school is never quite sure where the child is staying. At that school, less than 50 percent (and probably closer to 25 percent) of the children share their mother's last name. Not only is it hard knowing who lives where, it's hard keeping track of who belongs to whom. Not such an issue at the other school, where the vast majority live in homes with parents who are married to each other and have the same last name.
At one school, turning in chaperone forms is a competitive sport. The first two parents to turn in the form get a coveted spot on the field trip bus. Depending on the speaker, PTO meetings can be standing room only. Moms cut boxtops, shop at stores that give school kickbacks, organize teacher blessing weeks, and rearrange schedules so they can spy on the classroom. Er, I mean grade papers. At the other school's recent PTO meeting, not one parent showed up. This was after the triplicate paper announcements were sent home and government-issued snacks (good ones!) were purchased. The principal has determined that at this school, parent involvement means parents getting their kids to school. On time when possible. Period. Beyond this, parents don't have the luxury of time, or the stability, to spend time at their children's school, whether they want to or not.
One principal battles issues related to Common Core. The other battles issues related to attendance and tardies. Both work so hard for the children in their schools, and both lead a team of dedicated teachers who deserve twice the salary they make.
Both schools are also filled with children who think their reality is what's normal.They're children who will most likely follow in the tracks of their parents, because what their parents do is what's "normal" to them, whether that's practicing law 12 hours a day or bouncing from one minimum-wage job to the next, having a baby at 17 or waiting until they've earned a couple graduate degrees, riding the bus or driving a Lexus.
Twelve and a half miles and a whole universe apart.
Sunday, October 16, 2016
What "Evangelicals" Want
Journalists and political pundits talk a lot about evangelicals. Their interest in us is as a voting bloc, and we're getting an unusually large helping of attention right now. They want to know how we're going to vote in the upcoming election. They want to know how we make our decisions, on what issues our votes rest. I think I could save them all a lot of time and research dollars. What we want is pretty simple to identify.
First, an editorial note about the paragraphs that follow. I use the collective "we" here not because I believe I speak for everyone who checks an "evangelical" box on a survey. I use it to represent myself and the many other "evangelicals" I know. We don't go around calling ourselves that, by the way, but assuming it means we're whole-hearted followers of Jesus who believe the Bible is God's revelation to all mankind, then that's us. I'm also going to sacrifice good grammar for the sake of convenience. I will use the plural pronoun "their" for a singular person, because "he/she" is such a nuisance. Forgive me, editing friends. Try not to throw up.
What do evangelicals want in a President? We want a leader who starts every day realizing they're in over their head and turning to the One who is not. We want someone who believes daily communication with God is not only possible, but essential. We want a President who believes the Bible is the authoritative Word of God and spends good time reading it and applying it. We want someone who is humble about their successes and honest about their failures. How about just honest, period? We don't expect someone who's never told a lie, but we want someone who knows what to do about it when they do lie. Confess. Repent. Make things right. Move on and learn from it. We want someone who believes there is absolute truth, who knows where to find it, and who lives by it. We want someone who is faithful to their spouse, their children, their country, and their word, and who lives the same way whether the whole world is watching or no one is watching.
We want a leader who acts not out of selfish ambition, but out of humility. Someone who puts others' interests above their own. We want someone who loves their neighbor and their enemy, and when they fail at that (which they will), they confess, repent, make things right, move on, and learn from it. We'd like a President who takes Jesus at His word that He is the one way to the Father but who knows that forced religion was never God's idea or an effective form of evangelism. Someone who knows that every individual is free to make their own religious choices, but who lives out the faith so compellingly that the masses can't resist taking a closer look for themselves.
We want someone who knows that we fight not against flesh and blood but against the dark spiritual forces of evil, and that even if they can't say it out loud for fear of being branded a lunatic, puts on their spiritual armor every single day: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, shoes of peace, and the helmet of salvation, armed with a shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit. We want someone who believes that peacekeepers are blessed and that the most vulnerable need protection from the strong. Yes, this is hard. That's why we need someone who prays. We want someone who knows they need wisdom and knows the only way to get it is to ask God for it, because He gives it generously.
In short, we want someone who knows there is a higher authority, and that it's not them. There is an authority higher than the people of the United States, higher than the U.S. constitution. This person will know that the true authority is the Creator, Ruler, and Judge of the Universe, the One before whom they will stand and give account for their life. We don't expect them to say they lived perfectly or did it all right. They will say what we all will say: "I am a sinner saved by grace, and I tried to follow Jesus with everything I had."
I can hear the cynics now. "The secularists will never go for it." Really? They won't go for someone who values and demonstrates love and kindness and fairness and humility? Because they have so many better options? Others might declare me too idealistic. "This person doesn't exist!" they might say. But that's not true, because I know this person. Actually, I know at least a hundred of them, and I bet you do, too. I know 16-year-old kids and 21-year-old college students who fit this description, not to mention a man who's 103 and a fleet of moms in minivans. I'd vote for any of them in this election.
Yes, you might say, but these people are all smart enough to stay out of politics. Maybe it's time we become less "smart." I have a 9-year-old daughter who wants to be the President. She talks about it all the time, while I try to convince her otherwise: "Honey, be a nurse or a teacher, something where you can really help people." But I'm rethinking this. Sixty years ago, she would have been told she couldn't be President because she's a girl. Now she's told she can't be President because she's too good a person.
We can do better, America. We've got to do better.
First, an editorial note about the paragraphs that follow. I use the collective "we" here not because I believe I speak for everyone who checks an "evangelical" box on a survey. I use it to represent myself and the many other "evangelicals" I know. We don't go around calling ourselves that, by the way, but assuming it means we're whole-hearted followers of Jesus who believe the Bible is God's revelation to all mankind, then that's us. I'm also going to sacrifice good grammar for the sake of convenience. I will use the plural pronoun "their" for a singular person, because "he/she" is such a nuisance. Forgive me, editing friends. Try not to throw up.
What do evangelicals want in a President? We want a leader who starts every day realizing they're in over their head and turning to the One who is not. We want someone who believes daily communication with God is not only possible, but essential. We want a President who believes the Bible is the authoritative Word of God and spends good time reading it and applying it. We want someone who is humble about their successes and honest about their failures. How about just honest, period? We don't expect someone who's never told a lie, but we want someone who knows what to do about it when they do lie. Confess. Repent. Make things right. Move on and learn from it. We want someone who believes there is absolute truth, who knows where to find it, and who lives by it. We want someone who is faithful to their spouse, their children, their country, and their word, and who lives the same way whether the whole world is watching or no one is watching.
We want a leader who acts not out of selfish ambition, but out of humility. Someone who puts others' interests above their own. We want someone who loves their neighbor and their enemy, and when they fail at that (which they will), they confess, repent, make things right, move on, and learn from it. We'd like a President who takes Jesus at His word that He is the one way to the Father but who knows that forced religion was never God's idea or an effective form of evangelism. Someone who knows that every individual is free to make their own religious choices, but who lives out the faith so compellingly that the masses can't resist taking a closer look for themselves.
We want someone who knows that we fight not against flesh and blood but against the dark spiritual forces of evil, and that even if they can't say it out loud for fear of being branded a lunatic, puts on their spiritual armor every single day: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, shoes of peace, and the helmet of salvation, armed with a shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit. We want someone who believes that peacekeepers are blessed and that the most vulnerable need protection from the strong. Yes, this is hard. That's why we need someone who prays. We want someone who knows they need wisdom and knows the only way to get it is to ask God for it, because He gives it generously.
In short, we want someone who knows there is a higher authority, and that it's not them. There is an authority higher than the people of the United States, higher than the U.S. constitution. This person will know that the true authority is the Creator, Ruler, and Judge of the Universe, the One before whom they will stand and give account for their life. We don't expect them to say they lived perfectly or did it all right. They will say what we all will say: "I am a sinner saved by grace, and I tried to follow Jesus with everything I had."
I can hear the cynics now. "The secularists will never go for it." Really? They won't go for someone who values and demonstrates love and kindness and fairness and humility? Because they have so many better options? Others might declare me too idealistic. "This person doesn't exist!" they might say. But that's not true, because I know this person. Actually, I know at least a hundred of them, and I bet you do, too. I know 16-year-old kids and 21-year-old college students who fit this description, not to mention a man who's 103 and a fleet of moms in minivans. I'd vote for any of them in this election.
Yes, you might say, but these people are all smart enough to stay out of politics. Maybe it's time we become less "smart." I have a 9-year-old daughter who wants to be the President. She talks about it all the time, while I try to convince her otherwise: "Honey, be a nurse or a teacher, something where you can really help people." But I'm rethinking this. Sixty years ago, she would have been told she couldn't be President because she's a girl. Now she's told she can't be President because she's too good a person.
We can do better, America. We've got to do better.
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